Minna
by zbookworm
Summary: We knew her as Minerva McGonagall, the fiercely strict Transfiguration professor with a fondness for green tartan and a heavy Scottish brogue. But she was a person, too, a lost and lonely girl, who like so many others, found a home at Hogwarts.
1. Prologue, Part 1

**A/N:** Well, here we go. I can only hope that this is the beginning of a long and exciting adventure. For the moment, I make no promises about updates. Nor do I promise a conventional plot. Instead, I like to think of this as sort of a tribute to JKR's world and the beauty that exists in the small moments, the supporting characters, the brief glances into a magical world that has captured the imagination of a real world sick to death of being so real. This is the story of Minna, the Minerva McGonagall that might have been, if she had lived an ordinary life. And the story of Minerva, who lived an extraordinary one. I confess, I find her fascinating. And so, let it begin.

**Disclaimer:** I want to live in J. K. Rowling's world, but I certainly don't own it.

**Minna: Prologue**

Minerva McGonagall, headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was sipping Earl Grey with lemon in the quiet of her neat, tartan-draped office. She was dressed in her oldest, most comfortable set of work robes and several strands of her hair had fallen out of its bun. It was the sort of rainy and lazy day that only a Tuesday can be, and she had not been able to summon the energy that morning to go down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Not that she would be missed. Hogwarts was empty in the summertime, with the few remaining professors and staff rattling around the giant castle like peas in a metal bowl. Indeed, only the Heads of House, the caretaker, the gamekeeper, and the librarian were currently in residence.

But Minerva was not lonely on this gray Tuesday morning in the middle of August. No, she was kept company by the generations of headmasters and headmistresses that adorned her walls. She looked up from her correspondence briefly to observe her companions.

There was Newt Scamander, who sat in his frame surrounded by animal specimens and spent considerable time each day observing their behavior. There was Everard, dressed in an elegant Wizengamot robe, who took pleasure in telling anyone who would listen about the merits and failings of the latest Ministry decisions. There was the smiling Dilys Derwent, who insisted upon making a daily report of new discoveries and queer cases at St. Mungo's. There were the bumbling Armando Dippet and the haughty Phineas Nigellus Black.

But it was the two men who sat immediately behind Minerva's desk that provided her with the greatest companion–

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Minerva looked to the window in pleased anticipation, and was rewarded with the sight of the elegant plumage of her eagle owl, Artemis. She stood and walked quickly to where the owl waited, waved her wand to Vanish the glass of the window, and held out her arm. Artemis hopped onto the proffered perch, pecking affectionately at Minerva's hand.

"Well, my dear," Minerva asked the owl as she replaced the glass and returned to her desk, "did he say yea or nay?"

The owl hooted mournfully in reply, holding out her leg to her owner.

"Ah, I see," Minerva said, sighing and seating herself. She unfolded the letter and began to read.

_ My dearest Minerva,_

_ It is with deepest regret that I must turn down your offer to take Sydney Harding's place as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I have discussed it with Sara and she feels that I would be unsafe in the position. You must acknowledge, Minerva, that although twenty-three years have passed since the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, you have yet to have a Defense professor last more than five years. Poor Allison McLane actually __died__. Sara believes that those who take the position are at an inherent risk from Dark sympathizers._

_ Wishing you luck in your search and with deepest regrets,_

_Michael Corner_

Minerva sighed. Corner had been her last hope. None of the Aurors wanted the position; they were all too content under Head Auror Potter…

Nonetheless, she was almost glad that Corner had turned her down. He had always been a little haughty, a little over-confident. He had been a Ravenclaw, yes, but he had had the arrogance and ambition to rival a Slytherin, the blind bravado of a Gryffindor. It was ridiculously audacious, the way he had addressed her, _My dearest Minerva._ The last time they had spoken, it had been as Headmistress to pupil, "Good luck, Mr. Corner." "Thank you, Headmistress."

She smiled, remembering all those years ago, when the staff had gained a new potions master.

"_Hello, Mr. Snape," Minerva McGonagall said, looking up at the tall, dark student that she had never really liked. He had always been so brooding, so malignant. Except, of course, around Miss Evans._

"_Good day, Professor McGonagall," the man said, looking into her eyes for the first time in the three years since their last Transfiguration class. They were dark and black, as always, but as she met them with her own light brown ones, she saw, for the first time ever, that they were filled with emotion. _

"_Are you quite all right, Severus?" she had asked, gently, all strictness gone from her voice._

"_No, Professor," the man replied. She remembered what Albus had confided in her: Severus Snape was far darker than they had feared. He had become a Death Eater. But, according to Albus, he had renounced You-Know-Who. He was now serving the Order of the Phoenix._

"_I'm sure you will be," she replied soothingly._

_He gave her a wry smirk. "I think not, Professor. But perhaps we should go meet the rest of the staff."_

_She nodded. What was wrong with the poor man, that he would never be all right? "Very well, Severus. And please, call me Minerva."_

_He shook his head. "Not today, Professor. I keep forgetting that I am not here for a reprimanding. Perhaps, in time."_

_Minerva nodded slowly. "Very well, Professor Snape, let us go."_

Severus _had_ called her Professor or Professor McGonagall for the next few months. In time, yes, he had accepted his new role and they had gradually become equals. Minerva had known, always, that she and Severus were Albus's top officers. They, together, had formed Hogwarts's chain of command. Oh, how it had hurt to know that her superior was dead at the hand of her long-time colleague.

She glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder at the two portraits behind the desk. There, directly above her head, sat Albus Dumbledore, watching her calmly. To his right was the portrait of Severus Snape, with his single year as Headmaster listed beneath his frame. Many of the people who visited this office were infuriated to see him sitting there. Only Harry Potter had been pleased.

Minerva never knew why he had suddenly forgiven Severus, but she had known that it was a complete and irreversible change of heart. And Potter, as always, had been desperate to make up for his hatred of the greasy git of the dungeons. He had been determined to defend Severus's memory, as there was nothing else he could do.

"Minerva," said a snide voice, "you're daydreaming again."

The Headmistress's eyes snapped into focus and her back straightened. "Thank you, Phineas," she said sharply, quite irritated with the portrait. "I shall try to refrain from doing so in the future."

"_Well," _said the old Slytherin, "you _ought_ to be finding a new professor."

"Enough, Phineas," said the kind voice of Albus Dumbledore. "The news on Michael Corner, Minerva?"

"He refused," she replied, a little sadly.

"Don't take it to heart," said Albus, but when she turned fully in her chair to look at him, there was concern in his twinkling blue eyes.

"He was always a coward, Minerva," a new, silky voice added. "You would not have wanted him here."

She sighed and smiled at the two men. "Thank you, Severus," she said, "but sadly, we're a little desperate."

The dark-haired Slytherin shrugged. "How about Rosanna Darin? Allison McLane used to rave about her."

Minerva was caught by surprise. Why not Miss Darin? She had always been a model student, obeyed the rules, and been a willing tutor for her peers. She had been good in many classes, but unrivaled in Charms and Defense. She had also been a Ravenclaw. She would fit in quite nicely. But…

"Miss Darin is only twenty-one," she said sharply.

"And?" said Severus quietly. Minerva realized quite suddenly that Severus Snape had died a young man. He had died having taught for eighteen years, but he was only thirty-eight when he was murdered.

"Excellent idea, Severus," said Albus. Minerva continued to stare. No wonder she always felt alone, as though the world had grown up without her. No wonder all her friends were dead and gone. She was an old woman. The years had simply melted away, but it had been twenty-three years since little Severus Snape had died at the age of thirty-eight. Minerva had started teaching when he was ten. And she had been forty-two at the time.

"Merlin, I'm old," she muttered.

Severus smirked at her. "I've been telling you that for years, Minerva."

"Yes, but when this year's first years graduate, I will be one hundred years old."

Albus smiled, "You don't look a day over seventeen, Minerva."

Minerva and Severus snorted together. "I do hope she wasn't that wrinkly at seventeen," Severus scoffed.

Minerva laughed and began to pen out a new letter:

_ Dear Miss Darin,_

_I hope this letter finds you well and prospering. I've heard from one of your teachers at Auror school that you are doing wonderfully. Mr. Weasley says that he has not seen a student so skilled since the days of the war, and that, my dear, is a compliment beyond measure._

_If you have guessed that this is not merely a social letter, you have guessed correctly. I find myself, once again, short a member of staff. I know that Professor McLane's death hit you particularly hard, but she, I am certain, would have recommended you most highly for this position._

_I am speaking, of course, of the position of Defense Against the Darks Arts teacher. Many say the job is cursed, but I refuse to believe such nonsense. Many worthy candidates have, however, turned down the post for that precise reason._

_I am sure that your professors at Auror school will be willing to continue training you on the side. If you would like, I will speak to Head Auror Potter himself about getting a tutor. I know him as a very obliging man._

_Please do consider this, Rosanna. I am in dire straits._

_Cordially yours,_

_Professor M. McGonagall,_

_Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Having finished her letter, Minerva offered it to Artemis. The owl gazed at her with unblinking eyes as if to say, "Out in that weather again? After barely half an hour?" And so, excusing herself, Minerva went to post the letter. All the way to the Owlery, she was thinking about the upcoming school year and the staff meetings she had yet to plan.

When she reached that quiet place, however, with the owls gently snoozing above her, she was suddenly reminded, painfully once more, of how old she was growing. It was a strange feeling. Not one of the Heads of House she had taught with during the days of the Second War remained. Severus and Filius had passed on and Pomona had retired. Poppy, too, had resigned and even Sibyll was missed. Not even Rubeus Hagrid was still with them. _That_ had been a wretched day indeed. His funeral had been an affair of many tears and excellent stories.

In their place, however, were new, wonderful people. Linnhe Whiteclaw taught Transfiguration, Neville Longbottom had taken Herbology, Alana Richards presided over Charms, and Melanie Sarston instructed Potions. Those four were Heads of Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin, respectively. A woman named Rachael Erins had taken over Poppy's hospital wing and Marcus Brocklehurst ruled the library.

She loved them, too, but it was so, so strange to think that they were the third generation of Hogwarts professors she had known.

With a sigh, she tied her letter to a brown barn owl and made her way to the Transfiguration wing.

She knocked gently at the door and said clearly, "Linnhe, I'd like a cup of tea."


	2. Prologue, Part 2

**A/N:** I've decided that these first chapters will all be part of a prologue of sorts. We will see five or six that will deal with a Minerva-in-mourning, leading her life as Headmistress. Then it will be back in time, and we shall meet Minna. Thanks to all those who read the last chapter; I hope you enjoyed it!

**Disclaimer:** The characters, places, events... oh wait, everything wonderful about this story belongs to Ms. Rowling.

Minna: Prologue, Part 2: A Different Sort of Song

Minerva McGonagall was sitting in the golden, throne-like Headmistress's chair and watching her students enter the Great Hall. The sky above her was a deep, murky blue-gray, across which lightning kept flashing. Outside, it was pouring.

This, she admitted to herself, did make the students' arrival quite a bit more fascinating. Peeves was causing an undue amount of trouble and she could not help but smirk to herself as he dropped a water balloon on the perfectly dry Slytherin sixth-year, Vivian Zabini.

Vivian shrieked and started cursing at Peeves as her petty followers tried to mop her up. They were all sixth- and seventh-year Slytherins and Ravenclaws, all alarmingly pretty. None of them, of course, could compare to the stunning Miss Zabini. Blaise had married a half-veela Russian girl shortly after the war and Vivian was their second daughter. It gave Minerva a bit of petty pleasure, however, to know that even Vivian was outshone by the second daughter of Bill and Fleur Weasley, Dominique. With her shapely curves, blue eyes, winning smile, and strawberry blond sheet of hair, it was rumored that even the sought-after prince of Slytherin, Christopher Zabini, fancied her.

The next student to catch Minerva's eye was a sopping wet Molly Finnegan. She was a third-year Gryffindor with pretty blond curls she had inherited from her mother. Next to Molly, her red locks dripping, was a merry Lily Potter. The two laughed and Minerva saw a Ravenclaw boy glance at them curiously, before a furious glare from Hugo Weasley scared him off.

A few moments later, James Potter and Evan Jordan dashed into the Hall with mischievous looks on their faces. She sighed and waited for the explosion, _three, two, one—_

BOOM! Something exploded and suddenly there were feathers everywhere. A grinning Jake Wood caught up to Evan and James and gave them a high-five.

Seconds later, Albus Potter and Rose Weasley ambled into the Hall, conversing quietly. They seemed rather subdued, as always. It was only when one took the time to watch them closely that one could see how quickly their minds worked, how their eyes sparkled when they made a joke, or how their lips tugged slightly upwards when James, Evan, and Jake were hauled off for questioning and really had no clue what they were being punished for.

Then another boy caught up to them and they brightened and began chatting amicably. It was Scorpius Malfoy.

_That, _she thought, had surprised everyone, when the Malfoy heir had been a Gryffindor and the three of them became friends. Draco and Ron had been furious, but Harry had reconciled them to it in time. Scorpius, however, spent very little time with the cousins outside of the school year.

The last of the students made their way in and sat down. Minerva nodded to Linnhe and the Deputy Headmistress went to fetch the first years. Meanwhile, the new caretaker, Jon Summerby, retrieved the Sorting Hat. He set the battered old thing down on its stool and Minerva watched the first years filing in. They were so _tiny_. And they all looked very, very nervous.

The rip at the brim of the Hat opened and it sang:

_Good evening, lovely students,_

_May I advise great prudence,_

_When you try me on your head,_

_You should feel a bit of dread._

_Oh, I may not look too scary,_

_But children, do be wary,_

_Perhaps I will enthrall,_

_If Hufflepuff I call,_

_Maybe loyalty you possess_

_That which Hufflepuffs like the best._

_Or if Slytherin I shout_

_Perhaps you'll look about_

_And see with joy,_

_Your kin, clever and coy._

_Maybe in Gryffindor you belong_

_Where dwell the brave and strong,_

_Those who fight and fight_

_To win what they think is right._

_Or perhaps it's Ravenclaw I will cry_

_And with delight you'll fly_

_To the place where live the intelligent,_

_The know-it-alls, the diligent. _

_But beware, for you might change,_

_I know that it seems strange_

_But it happens again and again_

_As through our lives we wend_

_I feel odd to divide you up_

_Before we even sup_

_To pull you all apart_

_Before class even starts_

_And perhaps change who you'd be_

_If not Sorted by me._

Minerva rolled her eyes as she clapped. It seemed it was time to renew the Rhyming Charm on the Hat. And why was it spouting off the ridiculous idea that Sorting was a bad thing? Well, it actually wasn't so ridiculous, but it was not good for the Hat itself to go and frighten the kids. She would have to give Albus's portrait a telling-off when she got back to her office.

"Abercrombie, Elaine," called Linnhe. A cute little girl in pigtails scampered over to the hat and tugged it onto her head. "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Avery, Maxwell!" A timid little boy rushed up to the Hat and sat on the stool. The Hat fell over his tightly clenched eyes and, after a minute, cried, "SLYTHERIN!"

"Brunswick, Melanie."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Cornwallis, Derek."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Minerva tuned out. She knew that she would know them all by face, name, and House by next week. She'd been in the business long enough.

"Scamander, Lorcan."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Scamander, Lysander."

"RAVENCLAW!"

Ah, Newt would be pleased. She knew that he had been waiting to see the twins at Hogwarts ever since Luna's wedding day. She had been married to Rolf down at the Great Lake, and she had announced quite unashamedly – Luna would never be ashamed of something as wonderful as the creation of life –that she was five months along with a set of twin boys.

"Weasley, Louis."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Weasley, Molly."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Finally, the newest little Zabini (Alexander) was Sorted into Slytherin. Linnhe took the Hat away and Minerva stood to address the students.

"Welcome, everyone," she began quietly. The whispers quickly faded away. She might not be Albus Dumbledore, but Minerva McGonagall had never struggled to quiet students. "Yes," she continued, "welcome. I hope the veterans have had a good summer. To the new first years, I hope you have an excellent year.

"Every year, I give a speech. And I always expect your full attention. But this year, we have only one item of importance to address: joining us this year as Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts is Miss Rosanna Darin. Some of you may remember her from her own years here at Hogwarts. Welcome, Professor Darin.

"And now, let the feast begin."

The feast was spectacular, as always. There was braised chicken, roasted pork, grilled beef, baked ham, and seared lamb; baked potatoes, mashed potatoes, garlic potatoes, and potatoes Anna; vegetables of every variety, salads beyond imagining, every sort of fruit, and breads galore. And then there were the desserts: strawberry shortcake, carrot cake, pistachio pudding, bread pudding, éclairs, cookies, raspberry torte, apple pie, and ice cream sundaes.

Minerva had experienced enough Hogwarts feasts that they nearly sickened her. She forced herself, as always, to choose one meat, one potato, and one vegetable. Later, she chose only one desert. In that way, she found that Hogwarts continued to surprise her.

As she ate, she examined the cloudy sky. It never ceased to amaze her, how the Founders had bewitched the castle. How had they managed so many spectacular enchantments? How had they lasted over one thousand years?

"Minerva?" Linnhe asked quietly from her seat to Minerva's right.

"Yes, Linnhe?" Minerva sighed gently.

"Do you think you are quite all right? Usually you bore the kids to tears before you let them eat."

Minerva turned to smile at Linnhe. The girl had been home-schooled by her mother, which had made her a perfect fit for a Hogwarts in despair. She had not known the Hogwarts of Albus Dumbledore. She had never heard him say, "Oddment. Blubber. Nitwit. Tweak." And so, when Hogwarts had been in mourning, fierce, bold, strict Linnhe Whiteclaw had been able to function as usual.

"Oh, yes, Professor Whiteclaw," she said. "I was just remembering the days of–"

"Professor Dumbledore," Linnhe supplied.

"Yes," Minerva said, and her eyes twinkled for the first time in days.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

When all the golden plates were cleared, Minerva rose once more to address the students. A few, James Potter and Evan Jordan among them, cried out in protest.

"Professor," Jake Wood called, "I thought we had avoided the inevitable speech."

"Mr. Wood…" Minerva scolded.

"Jake!" Rose Weasley sniffed, "you _can't_ avoid the inevitable."

No one commented. Sometimes, even at fifteen, Rose Weasley crossed the delicate boundary between know-it-all and snob.

"Carrying on," Minerva said briskly, "let us address the business of the new year. You have already met Professor Darin." She paused for the brief cheers once more. Rosanna Darin had only graduated a few years ago and some of the older years remembered her well. "Our Heads this year are going to be Dominique Weasley—" there was an uproar of affectionate yells and catcalls from the Gryffindor table "—and Henry Zeller." At Zeller's name, the Hufflepuffs burst into cheers. Minerva had to smile. It wasn't often that they got their taste of glory.

"Mr. Summerby has the list of forbidden items at Hogwarts. It has expanded, of course, to reflect Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes' latest merchandise.

"And this winter, we are planning a Yule Ball." Minerva chuckled as the boys groaned and the girls squealed in delight. "The Heads and Prefects will get more information to you as the event approaches.

"I see little else to speak to you about at this time. Miss Weasley, Mr. Zeller, I will see you in my office tonight. Prefects, please escort your first years to your common rooms. Now, good night, everyone. Off you go."

As one, the students rose. Chaos erupted as prefects searched for first-years and friends sought out those they had not yet greeted.

Minerva sat back down and smiled, taking in the musical bubbling of excited voices and happy laughs.

_Oh, Hogwarts, _she thought. _The students have come home again._


	3. Prologue, Part 3

**A/N: **Well, I owe you all an apology. It's been a long time since I last updated. Here's a brief snippet, thanks to **sliz225**, who reviewed for this story!

**Minna: Prologue, Part 3: Greeting the Heads**

"How was the feast this year, Minerva?" Albus asked merrily.

Minerva rolled her eyes. "Albus. It is exactly the same every year. Perhaps the house-elves have added a new dessert. I really didn't..." She paused, remembering. "Actually, Albus," she said, fixing him with a stern gaze, "I do believe you and I must have a discussion about the things you are telling that Sorting Hat. Really, the first-years have heard enough horror stories about the Sorting from their siblings and cousins without the Hat scaring them as well."

Albus had the grace to look sheepish.

"But for now," Minerva said firmly, "if you will excuse me, the Head Girl and Boy are arriving in a few minutes."

She settled herself behind her desk, arranging her robes and picking up her quill. She pulled out the crossword from the Daily Prophet that she had been working on that afternoon and, adjusting her spectacles, prepared to read the next clue.

"It's 'nargle,'" Severus supplied.

_Mythical creature found in mistletoe, _read the clue. She glanced at the puzzle. Six letters, ends in 'e.'

"Severus," Minerva groaned. "Must you always come up with the answer first?"

"Yes," Severus replied, smirking.

"All right, then," Minerva challenged. "Missing artifact associated with Founder, six lett—"

"Diadem."

"Crumple-Horned—"

"Snorkack."

"Luck—"

"Felix Felicitis."

"Wand core animal, seven—"

"Phoenix."

"Muggle invention, keeps things cold."

"Refrigerator."

"Famous enchantress, starts with—"

"Morgana."

"Joke shop, out of busin—"

"Zonko's."

The dueling professors stopped at a delicate knock at the door. "Come in," Minerva called, setting down her quill and straightening the spectacles on her nose.

Dominique Weasley entered first, her strawberry blond sheet of hair tucked elegantly behind her ear. She was standing with her usual poise, but the way her left hand played with a lock of hair revealed her nervousness. Minerva could sympathize. She remembered her first day as Head Girl. Henry Zeller followed right behind Dominique, bobbing anxiously up and down.

"Good evening, Miss Weasley, Mr. Zeller," Minerva said warmly.

"Evening, ma'am," Zeller muttered.

"Good evening, Professor McGonagall," Dominique added in her clear, lilting tones. "I hope it's been a lovely one?"

"Well enough, Miss Weasley, thank you."

She made them sit in silence for a while. She was rather curious how long they would sit there before growing bold enough to initiate the conversation. She didn't have to wait long with Dominique Weasley.

"Professor?" Dominique asked. "Do you require something of us?"

Minerva smiled upon the forward young woman. "Yes, actually, Miss Weasley, now that you bring it up." She folded her hands and began.

"You are Head Boy and Girl. You are expected to show the utmost dedication to your schoolwork, the utmost respect for your teachers and peers, the utmost regard for the rules, the utmost compassion for your underclassmen, the utmost politeness to your rivals. It is expected that you will perform this without changing at all, but the Headship does leave its mark upon the spirit. I trust you, Dominique Weasley, Henry Zeller, more than any other students in this school to perform well under the burden of leadership.

"More mundanely, you will hold prefect meetings twice a month and additionally as necessary. You will each patrol either Monday or Wednesday from eight until eleven and together on Saturdays from nine-thirty until midnight. Your curfew is ten o'clock each night. You will continue to reside in your House dorms. Contrary to popular belief, there is not a Head Dorm, but there is a Head Bathroom, located on the third floor. The password is 'honeybee,' and the bathroom will not admit one of you if the other is within.

"At the prefect meetings, you will organize patrols. There are four nights when you will need full patrol: fifth, sixth, and seventh year pairs. On Mondays and Wednesdays, you will take half patrol, which consists of three students. On Saturdays, you will have one pair patrol. They will all hate that duty, but it must be done.

"The Hogsmeade weekends are yours to arrange. No less than three, no more than six. I expect the schedule to be finalized by next week and I would recommend you set one of the weekends one or two weeks before the Yule Ball.

"The Yule Ball is also completely under your control. I recommend the Great Hall and the Broken Wands, but you may choose location and entertainment to suit yourselves. The house-elves are always willing to offer advice. The date I have chosen for the event is Saturday, December 20th.

"You do hold the power to deduct points. I will not hesitate to take this power away, if I find a Head misusing it. Know that I have done this once and only once.

"I am always here for you to talk to. Do not hesitate to bring issues to me, but do not expect me to resolve them.

"Any questions?"

"No, Professor," Dominique said meekly.

"Mr. Zeller?"

"No, ma'am."

"Excellent," Minerva said with a smile. "Then welcome back, both of you. I am very proud of you."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Very inspired, Minerva," Albus said as the door clicked shut behind Dominique and Zeller.

"It's the same damn speech every year," Severus Snape muttered in disbelief.

"So?" Minerva said. "It's excellent. Why change it? Besides, I'm getting better and better at delivering it and the looks on the new Heads' faces are getting more and more amusing."

"So the dear Head of Gryffindor has a malicious side?"

"And if I do?"

"I think I'm rubbing off on you."

"This is very sweet," Albus said, "Minna and Severus having an affectionate conversation. I never thought I'd see the day."

"You haven't," Severus snarled.

"Don't call me that, Albus," Minerva snapped.

"A bit touchy, are we?" Albus asked, his eyes twinkling merrily

"NO!" shouted Minerva and Severus together.

"_Ahem."_

The dry cough cut through the playful atmosphere of the Headmistress's office. Former Headmaster Snape assumed his usual sulking sneer and former Headmaster Dumbledore arranged his face into a wise, but distant smile. Only the twinkle in his eyes revealed how intimate the previous moment had been.

"Yes, Phineas?" Minerva asked, schooling her face to hide both her fondness for her two most recent predecessors and her dislike of the interloper.

"I thought perhaps you might like to hear the first night's report from those of us who have actually been doing our duty this evening?" the haughty man simpered.

"Ah, yes," Minerva replied, nodding her head with mock solemnity. "It would never do for the headmistress to appear less than completely omniscient."

For this was how headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts had created the illusion of being all-knowing and all-seeing for the past ten centuries. Well, perhaps, Minerva reflected, some of them had had other powers at their disposal as well, but mostly, they relied upon their predecessors' portraits to act as their eyes and ears throughout the school.

And, being the nosy, gossiping busybody that he was, Phineas took this job very seriously indeed.

"Very well, Phineas. The evening report?"


End file.
